The Thief Lord Read Online Free PDF

me with his little piggy eyes. I always think he's secretly laughing at us or that he's going to call the police or something. I can't wait to get out of his shop."
    Prosper scratched himself behind the ear, still looking embarrassed. "If you think so," he said. "I can probably haggle pretty well. But Barbarossa is crafty. I was there last time when Mosca sold him the other stuff."
    "Try it." Scipio jumped up and hung the empty sack over his shoulder. "I've got to go. I have another appointment to keep tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow." He pulled the mask over his eyes. "Sometime in the late afternoon. I want to hear what the redbeard paid you for these things here. If he offers you..."he cast a thoughtful look over his loot "... well, if he offers you less than two hundred thousand lire, then just bring the stuff back for the time being."
    "Two hundred thousand!" Riccio's mouth stayed open.
    "These things are definitely worth much more," Prosper insisted.
    Scipio turned around and just said, "Probably." He looked quite scary again, with the long black bird nose. The naked lights cast his shadow massively on the movie theater's walls. "See you!" he said. He turned once more before vanishing through the musty curtain. "Do we need a new code word?"
    "No!" The answer came very quickly and in perfect harmony.
    "Fine. Oh yes, Bo," -- Scipio turned around again -- "there's a cardboard box behind the curtain. There are two little kittens in there. Someone wanted to drown them in the canal. Look after them, will you? Good night, everybody."

5 Barbarossa

    The shop where so much of the Thief Lord's loot had been turned into money lay in a small alley not far from the Basilica San Marco. Next door to it was a pasticceria with pastries and cakes of all shapes and sizes in its windows.
    "Come on," Prosper grumbled at Riccio, who was pressing his nose against the shop window. Reluctantly, Riccio let himself be dragged away, his head still swimming with the scent of sweet almonds.
    Barbarossa's shop didn't exactly smell as nice. From the outside it didn't look any different from all the other junk shops in Venice. The glass front was painted with ornate letters: ERNESTO BARBAROSSA -- RECORDI DI VENEZIA, Souvenirs of Venice. In the window itself, there were vases and candlesticks, surrounded by little gondolas and glass insects, laid out on threadbare velvet drapes. Thin china plates were crammed next to piles of old books, and pictures in tarnished silver frames lay next to cheap paper masks. Barbarossa stocked whatever anyone could desire. And if something particular wasn't on show, then the redbeard would get hold of it -- by crooked means if necessary.
    Dozens of glass bells chimed above his head as Prosper opened the shop door. Inside, a few tourists stood among the crammed shelves, whispering as solemnly as if they were in a church. They seemed awed, either by the chandeliers that hung from the dark ceiling, or by the countless candles that burned everywhere in their heavy holders.
    With bowed heads, Prosper and Riccio pushed past the tourists. A man was holding a statuette that Mosca had sold to the redbeard two weeks before. When Prosper saw the price tag underneath its plinth, he nearly knocked over a large statue in the center of the shop.
    "Do you remember how much Barbarossa paid us for that figure there?" he whispered to Riccio.
    "No. You know I can't remember numbers."
    "Well, that number has now got two more zeros on the end of it," Prosper whispered. "Not a bad deal for the redbeard, is it?"
    He stepped up to the counter and rang the bell next to the register. Riccio made faces at the masked lady smiling down at them from a large painting on the wall. This was his regular joke, for behind the lady's mask was a peephole through which Barbarossa kept an eye on his customers.
    A few seconds later the beaded curtain behind the counter tinkled into life and Ernesto Barbarossa appeared in person. The redbeard was a very fat man